Chewing on Dry Bones: Looking ahead to Sunday

We've got one of my favorite and most mysterious passages from the Hebrew Bible coming up on Sunday, Ezekiel's vision of the dry bones (Ezekiel 37:1-14). Here's the text:

Ezekiel 37:1-14

37The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. ²He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. ³He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” ⁴Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. ⁵Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. ⁶I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.” ⁷So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. ⁸I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. ⁹Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” ¹⁰I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude. ¹¹Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ ¹²Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. ¹³And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. ¹⁴I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act,” says the Lord.

For those of you who want to gnaw on those bones a little bit, here's some research and writing I did on them a few years back:

We saw it perhaps a hundred times in the days following September 11, 2001: two enormous towers of steel, glass and concrete, collapsing in slow motion, to a pile of debris. Twisted metal, shards of glass, a blizzard of paper blown down the blasted streetscapes of lower New York, pieces of humanity, dust, and more dust. As the World Trade Center, a symbol of American economic dominance, lay shattered like a broken Erector set that day, so did the nation of Israel lay shattered, its military, political and spiritual strength sapped, when Ezekiel had his vision of a valley of dry bones.

This text takes a picture of utter desolation and turns it into a promise of hope as a result of divine intervention. I will look at this quasi-apocalyptic vision, analyze its symbolic elements and structure, and see what it may say to us today.

This vision is placed two-thirds the way through the Book of Ezekiel, paired with another vision that expands a hopeful view of the future at a time when hope seemed snuffed out in Israel. Although it immediately precedes and is related to the vision of the two bound sticks, with its sense of a nation reunited under a Davidic covenant, it can stand alone as a picture of God’s power to restore the nation.

Historically, it is placed in the post-exilic period, with “the defunct nation”[1] struggling in Babylon to find reason for hope. Ezekiel was a part of the central priesthood during a tumultuous period in the history of Israel. His call took place in Babylon during the fifth year of King Jehoiachin’s exile. Because of the historical events mentioned in the oracles, Ezekiel’s oracular work can be placed between 593 and 571 BCE. His time overlaps that of Jeremiah. It was a time of religious as well as political turmoil because the people were split; some had gone to Babylon and some remained in the now-shattered Jerusalem. Theological as well as political consensus were impossible, and the community was in tatters.

Structurally, the Book of Ezekiel appears to be a single collection of generally chronologically-ordered oracles, composed in written form by a single author. Boadt[2] cites Zimmerli’s analysis which lays down a significant Grundtext of Ezekiel’s own words, with later additions by sympathetic redactors. Later commentators support an even greater inclusion into the Grundtext. Zimmerli also notes a structure in this particular oracle: “…two main sections, vv 1-10 and vv11-14, stand in a relationship of image and interpretation, where the interpretation contains at the same time the real proclamation to the people.”[3] This two-stage structure is found elsewhere in Ezekiel, notably in the call story (2:8-3:3).

The story is an ecstatic vision in which God takes Ezekiel to a remote valley (Wilson believes it is the one where Ezekiel begins his book and where he has his first vision of God[4]) filled with thousands of bones, bones that had been there so long under the hot sun that they are bleached and sere. There is hardly the remembrance of life in them.[5] There commences a dialogue between God and the prophet. Can these bones live? The prophet does not respond with the obvious answer: of course not! He replies that God knows the answer. God commands Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones and to tell them that God shall breath into them and give them life, putting sinews and flesh back on them, and they will live. The prophet does as God commands, and the bones find their mates and knit together, and are covered with sinew and flesh, but they are lifeless cadavers. So God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the breath and to command breath to come from the four winds and bring life to these bodies. He does so, and a vast multitude of the formerly dead arise from the valley. God explains to Ezekiel that these are the nation of Israel, that they represent the hopelessness of the house of Israel. Their bones are sere; their souls are sere as well.

God commands the prophet to tell them that they are brought out of their graves and brought back to life by the breath and command of God, and thus too the house of Israel will be restored to life. They will return to their land. Even more important, they will know that it is God who has done this for them.

The shattered Erector Set will be reconstructed, the house will be rebuilt, by God’s hand.

The power of the allegory is brought home by certain key words upon which I chose to focus: bone, dry, prophesy, and breath/wind/spirit (all from the Hebrew x;Wr). Bone, from the Hebrew ~c,[, has a meaning that is as poetic as it is physiological. It can also be translated as substance (in the sense of a component) or self (that which is at the core of who one is). If one applies the analogy of the World Trade Center, the bones are the steel superstructure which supports the building. When they fail, the building collapses. The thousands of disjointed, sun and wind-bleached bones in the valley are the collapsed beams of the House of Israel. In its failure to keep the covenant - worshipping foreign idols and committing crimes against each other – the essential component that has held the nation together and strong - has failed, and God has left the land. The people of Israel have lost their substance, their self, by losing their focus on their covenant. [6]

These bones are dry (Heb.: vbey"). This word, used primarily in Numbers and in Ezekiel, is infrequently attested, and its use is evenly divided between literal descriptor and metaphorical lack of nurturance/sustenance/life. The House of Israel, in exile in Babylon, is bereft of spiritual sustenance and in need of God’s breath of life during this time, as it was in the time of Numbers, in the wanderings in the wilderness.

The variety of applications of the word x;Wr raises some interesting possibilities. It is alternately translated as wind, breath, spirit. Use of the same word in so many different meanings in such close proximity may imply the multifaceted nature of God, and the many forms of His power. It can also reinforce the mystery of God, so difficult to define in mere words.

The word “prophesy” also is an interesting choice. First, the writer uses a word that represents a trance-like, ecstatic state rather than one that is more measured, such as “call” or “speak” or even “announce”. The sense of the mystical nature of the event is emphasized. Second, this verb is in the Niphal imperative form, but it does not seem to carry the usual import of a Niphal-form verb[7]. Even more intriguing is the use of this word seven times in this brief passage. Seven is a highly symbolic number, believed to be sacred among Egyptians, Mesopotamians and other Semitic peoples[8]. The number holds implications of completeness, from a cosmic (planetary), temporal (week) and liturgical (sabbath) perspective. [9] Are the seven calls to prophesy necessary to complete the rebuilding of the house of Israel?

This leads to another thorny question: Ezekiel’s first attempt to prophesy to the bones, which God has said will bring them back to life, in fact does not. It assembles the bones and lays on the sinews and flesh. He has to prophesy again, by calling to the breath carried by the four winds to inhabit these still bodies. One would presume that the first call would accomplish the deed, since God has told Ezekiel that it would. And yet it does not. Is the additional call required to bring the number of usages of “prophesy” to seven, indicating completeness? Is it required to emphasize God’s power, corralling winds from the four cardinal points to infuse the bodies with life?

And what of the four winds? Yarbro Collins makes the point that the four winds represent an ordered, structured world (as do the seven heavens) in her analysis of the Book of the Watchers (I Enoch 1-26):

“The theme of order is quite explicit here…On his first journey, Enoch saw the ‘storehouses of all the winds’ (18.1)…In chapter 18 reference is made to the four winds which stretch out the height of heaven. These four winds are called the pillars of heaven (18.3).” [10]

Further in her analysis, Yarbro Collins describes a variation on this theme, the twelve winds that are associated with the four quarters of the earth in Enoch’s Book of the Heavenly Luminaries (I Enoch 72-82), which focuses on cosmological/astronomical laws.[11] In The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, M.H. Pope also stresses the sacredness of the number four, “deriving its significance primarily from the four cardinal directions.”[12]

The idea of a completed task, a whole unit of work, is given great emphasis in a way that would resonate with the post-exilic Jewish listener by the use of emphasis and numerical symbolism. Only with God’s help, and God’s power, can the task be brought to completion. Only when the whole of God’s spirit infuses the whole enterprise can the House of Israel be rebuilt.

Zimmerli sees the image of this valley as “the great death”[13] to be followed by a great resurrection. This is a resonant image for Christians. It takes us from a temporal and political space (re-establishment of Israel once again in its own land) to a cosmic and spiritual one that suggests the eschaton. It is an extraordinarily powerful one, but it begs the question: how can this speak to us today, in this place and time? Blenkinsopp echoes Zimmerli’s view, but cautions that “it would probably be mistaken to exclude systematically any hint of the postmortem destiny of the individual.”[14]

Thus, I find myself thinking not of the end-times, but of the necessary reuniting of the fallen soul of the individual – each of those shattered piles of bones – restored to spiritual health as part of the Body of Christ. This is congruent with Blenkinsopp’s view: individuals are repaired (vv. 7-10) and then they are repaired as a community (vv. 11-14).[15]

This, then is the work that God calls Ezekiel to do: he is the conduit for the power and divine sustenance that will bring the House of Israel back to life. In our modern world, where the shattered towers in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty remind us of our vulnerability, and of the lack of conviction we show in our God, who gives us all, we are reminded, once again, that we are broken and in need of the gift of rebirth/rebuilding. We can also be built up again into a strong community of the faithful, if we are mindful of Who is the builder and to Whom we owe all honor and praise.

Bibliography

Blenkinsopp, Joseph. Ezekiel: Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press. 1990)

Botterweck, G. Johannes, et al, editors. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. 1998)

Bright, John. A History of Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press. 2000)

Cook, Stephen L. The Apocalyptic Literature (Nashville: Abingdon Press.2003)

Cooper, Lamar Eugene, Sr. The New American Commentary, Vol. 17: Ezekiel (United States: Broadman & Holman Publishers. 1994)

Freedman, David Noel, editor-in-chief. The Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York: Doubleday. 1992)

Heschel, Abraham J. The Prophets (New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classics. 1962)

Mays, James L., general editor. Harper Collins Bible Commentary (San Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco. 2000)

Seow, C.L. A Grammar for Biblical Hebrew (Nashville: Abingdon Press. 1995)

Stuart, Douglas. The Communicator’s Commentary: Ezekiel (Dallas: Word Books. 1989)

VanGemeren, Willem A., general editor. New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology & Exegesis (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing House. 1997)

Yarbro Collins, Adela. Cosmology and Eschatology in Jewish and Christian Apocalypticism (Leiden: EJ Brill. 1996)

Zimmerli, Walther. Ezekiel 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel Chapters 25-48 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press. 1983)

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End Notes

[1] Bright: 339

[2] Boadt in Anchor, vol. II: 715-716

[3] Zimmerli: 257

[4] Wilson in Mays: 619

[5] There is no mention in the text of the fact that such a place would be ritually unclean, but Cooper (323) notes that Ezekiel walks around the place and does not seem to touch anything. Cook (95-96) describes the emphasis on cultic purity just two chapters later in the passage on the slaying of the army of Gog, and elsewhere in Ezekiel. It is odd that the issue does not come up in this passage. This is, of course, a vision, not history, but given the preoccupation with ritual purity around gravesites it is striking in its absence.

[6] Stuart devotes much space to burial practices in ancient Israel, and describes the valley as a kind of giant ossuary. Pace Mr. Stuart, I think that the emphasis on the burial practice is ill-placed: this is a metaphorical ossuary.

[7] Seow (288-299) delineates four possible meanings for Niphal forms: reflexive, reciprocal, passive, and resultative (indicating a resulting state). None of these appears to truly apply here. Heschel (518), however, has a long discourse on the somewhat confused etymology of the word, which he links to an Old Arabic word nba meaning “’to inform’…inform[ing] in the name of God what is revealed secretly,” which would suggest the act of informing is one of a passive conduit of information generated actively by God. It seems somewhat tortuous, but Semitic etymology is rarely straightforward in this writer’s limited experience.

[8] Pope in Interpreter’s Dictionary Vol. IV: 294-295

[9] Friberg in Anchor, vol. IV: 1144-1145

Yarbro Collins: 122-123

[10] Yarbro Collins: 100

[11] Ibid.: 103

[12] Pope in Interpreter’s Dictionary Vol. III: 565

[13] Zimmerli: 260

[14] Blenkinsopp: 172-173

[15] Ibid.: 173

Copyright 2007 Mary Brennan Thorpe

In my next life...

...I will not get overweight in the first place so I don't have to work so danged hard to lose what I gained.

The older I get, the harder it is.

Bah.

Random Dots of Monday

• My dear parishioner died on Sunday evening. Bless him, he was ready to be done with the unbearable pain of metastatic cancer. His wife is dealing with metastatic lung cancer. Heaven help her....and the good parishioners of the parish will help her, too, doing as much as she will let them.

• Finally (FINALLY! after four months) got the meds that the insurance company was fighting me on. Here's the difference: on Saturday, in between trips to the hospital, I could do nothing but take a nap. Today, having had the meds, I've been rocking and rolling and getting things done. Take that, MS fatigue!

• Book group today was wonderful. We were talking about the January chapter of "The Year of Living Biblically," and it segued into a fascinating discussion of Biblical translation. I pulled the concordances off the shelf as well as pulling up my BibleWorks software, so we could explore whether the 10 Commandments say "kill" or "murder" in that commandment.
  

• It is 86 degrees here in Richmond, and we also have very high winds. I expect we'll have storms later tonight. This is very warm for this time of year, after a week of cool dampness. It feels sort of good, getting the chill out of the bones, but I'm not a hot weather person, so be prepared for me to whine about it in three months or so.

• Doug is back from his conference - it went well, despite several opportunities for it to go flop-bot*. Good to have him home again.

• Went for my annual physical early this morning. Like Monty Python's parrot, I am not dead yet. Not pining for the fjords, either. Numbers aren't bad, although triglycerides are a bit high. I get to wait another year for my colonoscopy since I had one at 50. That's just fine, thank you very much. I did have to make another appointment for my "well woman" checkup (read:Pap and breast exam). Why this couldn't be done as part of the regular physical heaven only knows. I should have asked if the guys get a separate "well man" checkup with the prostate palpation and the testicular exam. Somehow, I doubt it.

• I may try to get some more writing done tonight - I've got a couple of projects that need attention - or I may fade early. I went to the Advanced Weight Circuit Training Class for the first time this afternoon - I've been going to the intermediate one - and I am proud to say that I got through today's workout without puking or otherwise embarrassing myself. Average heart rate for the entire 45 minutes was around 152. That should generate some calorie burn. It may also generate an early bedtime.
  

• Time for the annual eye exam, too. Should I re-up on the contact lenses (expensive, a pain in the @rse but more attractive than specs) or just admit that I am une femme d'une certain age and just wear eyeglasses?
  

That's plenty enough dots for one day. Talk to you later.

*ref James Herriot's "All Creatures Great and Small" and the infamous Pekingese Tricki-Woo, whose owner, Mrs. Pumphrey, described his malady as "gone flop-bot." Use your imagination, friends.

Sermon for Sunday, April 3, 2011 Lent IV "Blind But Now I See"

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound to save a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.

Seeing. Sometimes it’s hard to see clearly. Sometimes it feels dark and misty and chilly, and we crave light and warmth. We feel like moles who live underground, no light or warmth in us, just feeling around blindly for the next turn of the underground tunnel. Cold. Dark. Worrisome.

It was gray and cold here much of this fourth week of Lent, and the warmth and light of Easter Sunday felt very distant, indeed.

In our first reading this morning, it sounds like the prophet Samuel was feeling the same chilly loss and loneliness. King Saul, the fair one whom Samuel anointed, had been dismissed by God as a failed king. Samuel felt that failure personally, but God prodded him to seek Saul’s replacement. It was a depressing moment and a frightening one. If Saul found out, he would kill the prophet. But God insisted, so Saul headed out.

It’s as if Samuel had proposed to a beautiful woman, the one whom he thought was the perfect match, and Samuel’s father said, “No, even though you’ve already proposed, she’s not right for you. Go over to that other family and check out their daughters – I’m sure the right one is waiting for you there.”

Now remember, Samuel was a prophet, a seer. He was someone who was supposed to be able to see things from God’s perspective, to see things that the rest of us cannot see, but in that moment, he must have wondered how weak his gift of seeing really was. He had anointed someone king who was not whom God really wanted. His vision had grayed somehow, and he had picked someone who failed. Thus his own ability to see was questionable, at least in his own eyes. It was all gray and chilly and dim.

Heeding God’s instruction, he went out to find another king, even though Saul was still on the throne. This was risky business – as I said, if Saul found out, he was likely to kill Samuel as a betrayer. But God’s call was more important, so Samuel went to visit the shepherd Jesse and examine Jesse’s sons, to find another king-to-be. Jesse paraded the boys before him, starting with the eldest. Samuel saw that boy, tall and handsome and strong, and thought this must be the one. But his eyes were still dim – the Lord told him it was not this one. One by one, he looked at the boys, and for each of the seven, he did not hear God’s voice saying “anoint him!” So he asked Jesse, “Is there another?”

Yes, there was another, David. The youngest, out with the herd. And Samuel asked that David be brought to him. And then Samuel heard the Lord’s voice, saying that this was the one to anoint. Samuel could not trust his own vision but he trusted the Lord’s voice.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound to save a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.

How do we fix our vision not on the immediate grayness, but on the distant light? How do we recognize what we see? How do we wake up our "inner eye" as our Hindu and Buddhist brothers and sisters call it, or the eye that sees as the Lord sees, as we read in Samuel? That warmth and light may not be immediately apparent (just as David's destiny was not immediately apparent to Samuel) but somehow we sense the warmth, the presence of God, and we are unfolded into the light. We can see, when before we had not been able to.

So it was for the blind man whom Jesus met on the road. Blind from birth, it was assumed that he was stricken with this terrible thing because his parents or grandparents had sinned. Did the ancient scripture not say, “Let the sins of the father be visited upon the son even to the third or fourth generation?” Jesus said no. This man was blind for another purpose, to show what God could do. So he quickly cured the man of his blindness. How was he cured? By mud and spit and a quick wash-up in the pool, by the one who is the Light of the World. Light, the Light of the World, curing blindness, curing darkness, overcoming something thought to be beyond overcoming. That divine warmth and light and power….

…and what was the response of the people who witnessed this? Confusion. They could not see it, could they? They were more blind than the poor fellow whom Jesus had cured. The Pharisees, the people, not one of them got it. Their dialogue with the formerly blind man and his family and friends would be comical if it weren’t so very sad. He could see. It was simple. He hadn’t been able to see before. Now he could. But they kept asking him ridiculous questions: “Is he a sinner? Do you think you have something to teach us?” And all the healed man could say was the truth: “He cured me. I want to be his disciple.”

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound to save a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.

So they drove him out of the village, where Jesus found him. Remember, Jesus had covered his eyes with mud and sent him to the pool to wash – the fellow had never actually seen Jesus. But when Jesus spoke to him, he recognized him, and said, “Lord, I believe!”

Sometimes it’s the voice of the Lord whispering in our ear rather than seeing him right in front of us that finally helps us understand who he is and what is going on. Jesus said “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Sometimes the light is not brightness but a warm voice.

Such an interesting sentence, and it is echoed in Paul’s words to the Ephesians: “once you were in darkness, but now…you are light. Live as children of the light!”

Again I ask: how do we fix our vision not on the immediate grayness, but on the distant light? How do we recognize what we see? How do we have the clarity of vision that the formerly blind man discovered when he washed the mud off his face, rather than the obtuse stupidity of the so-called wise men, the Pharisees? They are threatened by Jesus’ power, by the light that shines from him (because he is the light), because it doesn’t equate with their narrow and rule-bound view of relationship with God. He is everything they are not, first and foremost love and light, and it frightens them, so they ask Jesus a pointed question: “Surely we are not blind, are we?” They are so certain they know the answer…wise men who are faithful followers of the law must not be blind! They must be beacons of righteousness, and in their pride that is how they would describe themselves. But Jesus turns them and their world and their rules upside down. After all those question about whether the blind man had been sinful, all those challenges as to whether Jesus was sinful for healing him, they are made the fools. Jesus says, “if you were merely blind – stupid and not knowing what is true – I’d judge you without sin. It is not a sin to be wrongheaded because no one ever taught you. But you should know better. You yourselves say ‘we see.’ If you’re so smart that you can see, and you refuse to recognize who I am – the Son of God – yes, you are in a state of sin, and that state of sin is worse than blindness. It is knowingly denying God With You, for your own small and selfish reasons.”

That’s the thing: knowing God comes from living in the warmth of the Light. Knowing God means we see, more clearly, who it is we serve and worship. Knowing God means we were blind, but now we see.

When we see clearly, as Samuel suddenly did when David was brought before him and the Lord whispered, “This is the one,” as the blind man did when he rinsed off the mud and answered clearly and simply that he wanted to be Jesus’ disciple, we have no choice but to live in the light. We have no excuse for hiding or trying to avoid the work of being Jesus’ disciple, even though it sometimes puts us at risk, as the blind man discovered. We can do nothing but serve and love and praise and pray and worship.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound to save a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.

That song…so familiar to us. Do you know its story? It was written by a man who had served as a seaman on a ship bringing poor souls in chains from Africa to be slaves. During a terrible storm he realized that his former life as a brawler and one of the most foul-mouthed sailors who ever lived – quite a title, to be sure – was one he wished to leave behind. In the darkness of the storm, he sensed the light, a clarity of vision that had never touched him before. He wrote this song in response to that moment of light. Over time, the light strengthened in him, and he left the slave trade and studied for ministry. He became a child of the light.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound to save a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.

Most of us live our lives on the edge of darkness. We cannot see clearly. We sense the warmth, and like seedlings turn our faces toward the light. If we but open our eyes, we will see that light, and know how we are to live our lives in response to it. We were once lost. Now we are found, or on the way to being found. We were blind. We still see dimly. But Easter is coming, and with it the Light. We were blind, but soon, with his help, we shall see.

Amen.

Friday Sabbath

It was a good day. I got up, spent much of the morning in my jammies (had intended to work out early but decided to hang out at home), met a friend for lunch at an excellent new Italian place, and went with her to the Bizarre Bazaar, a craft show on steroids at the Richmond Raceway. We wandered around, a tad overwhelmed by the high percentage of shocking pink decorations (target audience: Richmond women 40-60 with money to buy silly tchochkes - apparently we are supposed to think that shocking pink and black are stylish), but found some fun stuff, including a spring colored pashmina, a nice little wreath for the front door, and gifties for a few upcoming birthdays. We avoided the various pralines, peanuts, chocolate, wine, pimiento cheese for sampling and sale.

I got home, had a little snack, and went off to work out. I decided to brave the line-dancing class.

I know what you're thinking. "Line dancing? What the heck kind of workout is THAT?"

However, it has a reputation of being a fierce workout, and the reputation was deserved. I came out of the class dripping with sweat, craving some ibuprofen, and discovered a message on my cellphone.

One of our dear older parishioners who has been sick is close to death. I knew he had been ill, but I thought his wife's condition was more precarious. I haven't had a memorial service to do since right before the Con Ed cruise, and I was hoping for a bit longer reprieve, but folks go to God when God calls, not when it is a more relaxed time for the pastor. Lesson learned, Lord.

So I've run the laundry and cancelled my participation in a road trip/training session in Durham NC tomorrow so I can spend the day in the holy work of sitting by the bedside of this dear man, holding the hand of his sweet wife, praying and talking and sitting in silence while they decide if he should be moved to the hospice facility or just stay put, whatever will make him most comfortable.

The sermon for Sunday is done. The Adult Forum is not. I will probably spend another hour on it tonight, but if it doesn't get completed, so be it. I'll do what most needs to be done, and am grateful to do it. Some sense of Good Friday has come a bit early, it seems. We watch and pray.

Sermon for Sunday, March 27, 2011 Exodus 17:1-7 “God Among Us”

Oh the people of Israel! What a bunch of complainers! They’re like a bunch of twelve and a half year olds. Wherever they are, they find something to complain about. And they always assume that God has nothing better to do than pay attention to them, and their myriad needs…

…and it’s an assumption based upon experience. Think about it. Earlier in their journey, they complained about the lack of food. What did God do? Suddenly there was manna and quail, more than they could possibly eat.

So now they’ve been complaining about the lack of water. Moses got to hear all the complaints, as if he was the babysitter of these troublesome pre-teens. They whined, “We want water! We’re thirsty! Get us water! Did you bring us out of Egypt to kill us off with thirst?”

And by this time, Moses was pretty tired of their continual complaints. So he did what he always did, as the intermediary between God and God’s people. He went to the boss and complained, too: “these people are ready to kill me – what shall I do?”

And God sighed – parents of preteens often do – and said, “Okay, go over to that rock over there and whack it with your staff – you know, the one you used to strike the Nile River and make all those plagues? – and watch and see. The water will come out of it, and they stop complaining.”

A psychologist might say that God and Moses had set up this pattern of complaint and indulgence, and might even say that is pretty unhealthy. Teaching people that they get what they want by complaining about it…we don’t do that today, do we?

The squeaky wheel still gets the grease, doesn’t it?

Poor Moses was left once again with that bitter taste in his mouth, as the person who got the brunt of it all, so he named the place “Despair and Strife Plaza,” the literal translations of Massah and Meribah, as a reminder of what royal pains the people were in that place, and how they tested God.

Now when the Israelites grumbled about how thirsty they were, I doubt they were thinking, “let’s test God.” No, I think they were grumbling and murmuring among themselves because their throats were parched, their animals looked like they were about to keel over, and no one had had a good wash-up in quite a while.

But it was a test of God, because in their minds, bad things were happening, and they were happening because Moses had led them out of Egypt (which they barely remembered as a place of slavery) at the command of their God and they saw nothing of the land they had been promised. They were tired and they saw no end in sight, and Moses was the one telling them that God was with them, but they never saw God…only Moses saw and conversed with God. Not a surprise that they had their doubts!

Now, God could have done something simpler in response to the people’s complaints. There might have suddenly been a pool of water that they came upon, an oasis. That happened periodically to people walking through the desert. It would have been less dramatic.

But God understood that something more dramatic was called for, because folks were forgetting that God was behind this journey. Folks were losing their faith in the midst of their everyday troubles like sore feet and sick relatives and not enough water. So he gave Moses instructions to use that staff that had been turned into a serpent, that staff that turned the Nile into a river a blood before Pharoah…a staff with history, a history of God’s power. “Hit the rock with the staff,” God said. “The water will flow from the rock.”

A dramatic gesture that would remind the grumbling Israelites of the presence and the power of God.

God not only provided water, God provided a reminder of God’s continual presence with them, even in the midst of troubles.

We need a reminder, too, especially in Lent.

Lent is only forty days long, and yet it too feels like a long walk in the desert. A dry and difficult time when we don’t sing songs of joy; we sing songs of our own failures and of the necessity for Jesus’ death to overcome those failures.

We feel the limitations in our hearts most poignantly, and we struggle to find a way to feel the coming redemption.

But Lent is not only this season; it is a state of the soul. We are sharply aware of our heart-sickness when we are dealing with our difficulties and tragedies. Losses of those who are dear to us: losses from death or from dementia; losses from divorce or other broken relationships; losses that simply result from time and distance. And in that moment we cry out to God: “I am thirsty. Where are you? Why aren’t you taking care of me?”

We grumble and cry, feeling isolated in our pain, wondering why God isn’t there for us, tending to us.

But God is.

It’s like the old joke about the fellow who was caught in a flash flood and asked God to save him. The fellow was a devout Christian and had no doubt that God would provide. So he climbed up onto his roof as the waters rose and he prayed. “Dear God, please come and save me from the flood!” After a while, an oversized truck came down his street, which was now awash with water. The driver said “Come on into the truck and I’ll get you out of here.” “No need! God will save me,” the fellow cried. An hour passed, and the water was now up past the porch and the downstairs windows. A neighbor came by in his bass boat and said, “Friend, come into the boat and I’ll take you to dry land.” And the fellow said, “No need! God will save me!” And more time passed, and the water got even higher, pouring into the upstairs windows. Scary! And then he heard the whirring of helicopter blades overhead and then he heard a voice coming from a helicopter hovering above. “We’re dropping down a rope ladder. Climb up and we’ll get you off that roof and take you to safety.” “No need! God will save me!” said the very damp and devout fellow. So the helicopter flew off to save someone else, and the water rose, and rose, and eventually the fellow was swept away…and he drowned in the roiling waters. He went up to heaven and presented himself to the Lord. “God, why didn’t you save me?” the fellow demanded. “What are you talking about?” God said. “I sent you a truck, a boat and a helicopter!”

God is present. God sends us what we need to survive the troubles of life. We doubt, though, in the midst of our pain. We are not the only ones. Jesus himself, as he was dying on the cross, cried out “Eli, eli, lama sabachthani.”

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

When we are in our darkest Lenten moment, in the deep purple shadows of doubt and pain and loneliness, we cry out, “Where are you? I’m thirsty. I’m lonely. I’m in pain. Why have you forsaken me?”

And God responds in ways that may not immediately be attributable to the divine presence among us.

A friend who gives us a hug and cries with us. A casserole left on a porch. A flower arrangement or a card. An offer to take us out to lunch, or to walk the dog. Helicopters, trucks, and boats come in many shapes and sizes, don’t they?

These are the presence of God among us in our times of trouble. We don’t see God directly. We see God mediated through another human being, just as God’s presence among the Israelites was mediated by Moses.

God responds to the needs of humans in pain through other humans, humans like you. This parish is good at this. When someone is in trouble, you ask what you can do to help, in ways ranging from the extremely practical to the extremely spiritual. You send cards, you call, you drop off food, you offer to run errands. And most of all, you pray. And your actions and your prayers are like cool water flowing from a rock into the parched souls of those who need it.

In this Lenten season, when we remember the pain that Jesus suffered on the cross, when we remember that it was our brokenness that required his sacrifice, let us also remember that we can be a part of the redemption by being God’s presence in the world. We offer our generous hearts as the pump for God’s cool water, as the rock is broken open by God’s power.

God is with us, at all times. God is in us, too. Let’s not forget that.

Amen.

A Chair, A Bar, A Cat, and some Quiet

Doug is back from the Psychotherapy Networker Conference, full of good information and some lovely poetry from David Whyte. We had a quiet dinner, suitable for recovery from a long drive and much thinking: beef stew, rolls, salad, red wine. A square of dark chocolate to end with sweetness. It is good to have him home again.

It was good as well, though, to have some alone time in the house. It feels quite snug and safe, even in our sometimes iffy neighborhood, because of the security doors and the stout walls. And I was glad to have silence, only broken by the mewing of Spooky the Chemo Cat. Her meds have made her more active and noisy, and more craving of attention. Still, it was quiet and sweet.

I ran over to the office to do some paperwork and assemble my nifty new office chair, fresh from Guangdong, China, via Staples. A good chair at a good price - I like it!

Because Doug was away, there was no Friday night Date Night, as is our norm, but I went to our local pub for a glass of wine (nice simple Malbec) and a chicken quesadilla. It was full of Friday night noise and activity, but I found a spot at the bar - no reason for me to take up a two-top - and perched on a stool.

I don't much like perching. It always feels like I'm either spilling over both sides of the stool, or am about to fall off.

So I sat there somewhat precariously, waiting for my food, reading "The Year of Living Biblically" while all around me folks were busy violating the many many rules that AJ Jacobs was trying to adhere to in the book. Many F-bombs were dropped, and not just by those watching the UR Spiders getting beat by the Jayhawks. A man sitting on my right (dark, small, may have been from Malaysia or someplace like that) said to me, "You come to a bar on a Friday night and you read a book?" "Mhmm," I replied. "It's restful, even with the noise."

I'm sure he thought I was crazy, and perhaps I was. I was glad when I finished the repast and paid up, and went out into the relative silence of the night. The cool crisp air, the darkness, it was all good.

Today was full of things like laundry, cleaning, the workout at the gym (Saturday is 45 minutes of circuit training on weights and 35 minutes on the treadmill), and finishing the sermon for tomorrow morning.

It was Sabbath, though, in the midst of the busy-ness, because it was quiet. I do need my quiet.

Tomorrow will not be quiet. It will be un-Sabbath for me, pastoring, listening to the subtext beneath people's words, hearing what I need to attend to in the coming week. Hospital visit after church, helping Doug get ready to head out to another conference (American Association of Pastoral Counselors, of which he is president), and planning Monday, which looks to be very busy indeed.

And the week to come includes the monthly newsletter. Thank goodness the Parish Secretary is back to do most of the work on it.

And thank goodness for quiet days, even if there is really no such thing.